


Love and a Question

by whyyesitscar



Series: Lady Day [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-05
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-26 02:57:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whyyesitscar/pseuds/whyyesitscar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a moment when you know that you've found the person you want everything with. These are Santana and Brittany's moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brittany

**Author's Note:**

> Two-shot, AU in which Quinn kept Beth, mostly canon otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics from "Dog Days Are Over" by Florence + the Machine.

  
**and i never wanted anything from you**   
**except everything you had**   
**and what was left after that, too**   


“…So all I’m saying, Britt, is that I could use a weekend. Not even a weekend; maybe just a night. Beth is really good and she loves you and it wouldn’t be for that long, and anyway she just sits and smiles most of the time, so you wouldn’t have to do that much. Just grab Artie and you two can play with her for a couple of hours, because I am going out of my _mind_ taking care of her every night. I just need a break.”

Brittany stops at her locker and hesitates before opening it, silently running through the words Santana told her to remember the combination— _thirsty, windy tree, sex_. She smiles as she gets to the last word (like she does every day) because Santana’s slow, creeping smile when she first said it was really hot.

“Britt!” Quinn is impatiently tapping her foot, eyebrows raised dangerously, and if Brittany hadn’t known Quinn for her whole life she might be scared.

“What?”

“Oh my god, _please_ tell me you were listening. Can you babysit for me? Like, Friday or Saturday? I need out of my house.”

“Can I bring Santana?”

Quinn’s eyes narrow and Brittany tries not to blush. “Britt,” she warns, and the way she says Brittany’s name is different from how she had moments ago. It’s too shrewd, not nearly annoyed enough, too soft and sad.

“What?” Brittany deflects. “A guy in a wheelchair probably isn’t the best person to take care of a seven-month-old baby, that’s all.”

“Uh huh.” Quinn doesn’t believe her. “So you’ll do it?”

Brittany takes out her history textbook and shoves it under the math book she was already holding, shifting to accommodate the extra weight. “Well, Saturday my sister has a soccer tournament so we’ll be gone, but I can totally do Friday.”

Quinn looks so happy she could faint.

She doesn’t, which is good because with all the books she’s holding, Brittany is pretty sure she wouldn’t catch her in time.

/

Santana is about to walk through the door to English class before Brittany catches her.

“San! Hey, wait!” She comes to a noisy stop in front of Santana and ignores the confused look she gets in return. “Look, I know you have to get to class so I’ll make it quick: do you wanna babysit Beth with me on Friday?”

“Absolutely not,” Santana scoffs.

“Pleeease, Santana. I can’t ask Artie because what if he bumps into the little baby gate Quinn has set up or what if he rolls over Beth and plus it’s December and his wheels are pretty much always slippery these days and that is just a recipe for disaster.”

Santana rolls her eyes but Brittany can see her relenting. It’s a slow process (like everything with Santana always is), so Brittany has to work on reeling her in. Fortunately for her, she knows exactly which bait Santana always bites at.

“Why don’t you just babysit by yourself? You’re great with your sisters and stuff. You don’t need me.”

“I always need you,” Brittany says immediately, and by the way Santana’s neck reddens, she knows it was the wrong thing to say. “I mean, babies always make me sleepy and I can’t take a nap if I’m the only one there.”

The bell rings and that means they have thirty seconds to get to class or they’ll be marked tardy. Brittany has no chance of getting to History on time, but Santana’s right here and she hates being late.

“ _Please_ , Santana,” she pushes one more time. “Quinn’s super tired and I just want to help her out. We’re her best friends.”

“We used to be,” Santana corrects. “But whatever. I’ll be there.”

/

Quinn’s house looks just like it always does when Brittany comes over—clean, perfect, and sad. It’s gotten a little better since Beth; there are baby toys and blankets strewn haphazardly over the couch in the living room, and Brittany smiles because if anyone needs a little organized chaos in her life, it’s Quinn Fabray. And her mom, but Brittany doesn’t know if Judy can really be changed at this point. The woman is one cocktail away from being a Stepford wife.

Quinn looks past Brittany when she opens the door. “Where’s Santana?”

Brittany shrugs. “She said she’d be here. She knows where you live.”

Quinn bites her lip as she lets Brittany in the house. “Britt, I don’t really want to leave until she gets here…”

Brittany knows that Quinn doesn’t think she’s dumb, but even though she’s Britt’s other best friend she doesn’t really understand her like Santana does. Brittany’s not going to, like, drop Beth on her head. She’s got two younger sisters. She can totally handle poop and screaming and mindless repetition, and she tells Quinn as much.

“How do you think I got Emily and Katie to love me so much? I’m awesome with kids, Q. Don’t worry.”

Quinn slumps onto the couch and sighs heavily. “I’m not worried about _you_ , Britt. Well, I am,” she amends, “but not because of Beth. I just…I want to make sure that Santana’s not going to be a royal bitch to you tonight.”

Brittany scrunches her eyebrows together. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I know you two have been on the rocks since the duet competition. She’s on edge and she’s totally taking it out on everyone.

Brittany smiles. “I can handle a cranky Santana.”

“I don’t think your usual methods will work, Britt.” Quinn glances at her meaningfully. “You’ve got Artie.”

Brittany looks down, her smile gone. “I don’t want to talk about this, Quinn,” she says softly.

“She’s totally hung up on you,” Quinn continues. “I know there’s nothing for you to do right now and it’s all up to her, but you can’t lead her on, either. There is just so much that can go wrong tonight.”

A car horn honks from outside and Brittany takes that moment to yank Quinn off the couch and shove her toward the door.

“If anything does go wrong tonight, you can totally say you told me so,” she says over Quinn’s protests and slurs of emergency contacts. “Hey, Puck,” she says when a mohawk peeks its way around the doorframe.

“Sup, Britt,” he says, nodding his head. He turns to Quinn. “Why is Lopez parked outside your house?”

Brittany tries not to look too happy, but Quinn catches her out anyway.

“Go have fun,” she says, trying to mask her excitement. Puck smiles at her, taking Quinn’s hand in an overtly-chivalrous manner that makes Quinn smile and smack his chest.

“Don’t worry about dinner; she’s already eaten!” Quinn yells as Puck drags her away.

“Got it!” Brittany yells back, waving even though they’re not looking at her anymore.

She makes her way upstairs. Beth is lying in her crib, gurgling and smiling. Brittany smiles back, thankful that Beth is a happy baby because her sisters were screaming terrors at this age. They couldn’t stand to be left with anyone but her mom.

“Hey, beautiful,” she coos. “Let’s go see what Santana’s up to, hmm?” She picks Beth up and rests her on her hip, grateful (again) that Beth isn’t a chubby baby. So far she’s winning every contest against Brittany’s sisters.

Brittany slips on Beth’s coat and shoes because even though she’s pretty sure they won’t be outside for very long, cold babies are not happy babies. She mumbles to Beth and plays with her fingers as she crunches down Quinn’s pathway. Santana is sitting in her Lexus, head down and solemn, and Brittany smiles. Quinn was wrong; this is totally a Santana that Brittany can handle.

She raps on the passenger window and waits for Santana to roll it down. “Hey, stranger. Ever plan on getting out?”

Santana looks very pointedly at Beth. “Should she even be outside?”

Brittany laughs and shakes her head. “She’s just a baby, Santana. She’s not going to melt.” Brittany takes her free hand and sticks it inside the car. Santana flinches, like she’s preparing to catch Beth when she falls, and Brittany smiles wider. “You are, though. Are you trying to bake yourself in here?”

Santana pouts. “I hate winter.”

“I know. So come inside and we can eat some of Quinn’s awesome pasta.”

“Quinn made _pasta_?”

“Yeah, apparently she’s taking this mom thing really seriously. Which is good, I guess. It’s definitely tasty; I snuck a bite.”

Santana finally smiles, turns off the car, and makes a beeline for the front door. Brittany is surprised she doesn’t fall.

She closes the door quickly when she makes it back to the house, and Santana turns toward her, surprised—like she forgot Brittany was there for a second, and her face falls because they can’t banter about weather anymore and Quinn isn’t there for Santana to snark at. It’s just them and a baby, and Brittany doesn’t know which blonde Santana is more scared of at the moment.

Beth has gone quiet and she won’t stop staring at Santana. Her big, brown eyes are wide and unflinching and Santana mirrors them. Brittany has to stop herself from laughing, because who else but Santana Lopez would get into a staring contest with a baby and totally take it seriously?

(The laughter dies in her throat when Santana loses).

“So…” she coughs. “Pasta?”

Santana nods. “Sure. I’ll grab some plates.”

Brittany follows her into the kitchen and sets Beth up in her highchair. She busies herself with getting some water from the fridge as Santana messes around with the cupboards.

“This is fucking _ridiculous!_ ” Santana grunts. Apparently the baby-proof locks on the cabinets are just a little too effective. “Why would they need to baby-proof these cabinets? They’re five feet off the ground. Unless Beth is a super-baby, I’m pretty sure she can’t jump. The little squirt can barely sit straight.” Beth proves this point by lolling her head back and laughing. Santana pushes the cabinet in again, trying to get the lock to click and pop open. When it doesn’t, she slams it in quick succession, making a huge racket.

“Santana, calm down, okay?” Brittany stills her hands and rubs soothing circles on her wrists. “You’re going to freak Beth out.”

They both look at Beth, who is happily slapping her tray table. When she senses the silence, she looks up, eyes wide and questioning.

“Right,” Santana deadpans. “ _That_ is the picture of terror.”

“Okay, so maybe you won’t freak out Beth. But you’ll make Judy super mad if she comes home to find her cabinets smashed. I’ll just get plates from the dishwasher or something.”

Brittany fishes two plates, along with silverware, out of the dishwasher and Santana spoons pasta for both of them. It seems effortless, Brittany thinks, like they could be doing this ten years from now or twenty or fifty. Then she shakes her head and remembers the boy with the squeaky wheelchair and red racing gloves.

Right. Him.

“So, how come you aren’t minding this squishy ball of gas and spit with Wheels?”

(It still surprises Brittany, how she seems to share so many thoughts with Santana. It’s why she still has hope).

“Please don’t call him that,” Brittany says instead of answering. “His name is Artie.”

“I know what his name is, Britt.” And of course she does; they’ve been in Glee together for two years. “I just choose not to use it.”

“He’s playing video games with Sam. They have a tournament or something.”

It’s a complete lie—Brittany never even asked Artie what he was doing; she just said she was busy—but Santana doesn’t need to know that.

“Nerds,” she sneers, stabbing her pesto.

“Wait, then doesn’t that make you one, too? Because I _know_ I’ve seen you play Hello with Puck.”

Santana stuffs her face to hide a smile. “That’s ‘Halo,’ Britt.”

“I know,” Brittany grins. “I just wanted to see you smile.”

They finish dinner and it isn’t awkward anymore; Santana laughs when Brittany makes funny faces for Beth and she only sort of flips when Beth starts getting whiny ( _“Small thing making loud noises, Britt! Small thing making loud noises!”_ ) Beth, it seems, doesn’t take to Brittany’s faces.

But when Santana scrunches her nose in laughter, Beth imitates her. And when Santana spits out her water at something Brittany says, Beth blows a raspberry.

“Looks like you’ve got a fan,” Brittany teases.

Santana straightens her smile and sets down her fork and knife. “Oh, no. This kid cannot like me. I do not _bond_ with small children.”

Brittany doesn’t say anything. She just picks Beth up and migrates to the living room. Beth doesn’t seem to be interested in any of the toys lying around, but she’s delighted when Brittany starts a game of Peekaboo. Which is good, because Brittany could play Peekaboo forever. She never gets tired of seeing that special baby smile that happens when they rediscover a face.

She listens as Santana washes up in the kitchen. They only dirtied a few dishes, but Santana never likes to leave a house messy, especially one that isn’t hers. She used to offer to do the dishes all the time at Brittany’s house. But later, when she was as permanent in that house as any of the Pierces, she just got up and did them if no one else did. Brittany never minded—it saved her the chore.

Only lately, she’s had to do a lot more dishes. And sometimes when she feels like crying when her mom asks her where Santana is, she leaves the dishwasher alone and goes over to Quinn’s house. It’s the reason Beth knows her and likes her so much. The roles have flipped and Brittany has become the permanent fixture in the completely wrong house. She knows where Beth’s diapers are and which one is her favorite toy and what her cries mean when she’s cranky. She knows when it’s okay to shove off and leave Quinn to deal with a stinky baby butt, and she knows when Quinn is near tears which means that Brittany should probably spend the night. She also knows that Puck is here most nights, too; she knows that he plays with Beth and changes her and even Judy thinks he’s a good man. It makes Brittany sad because she doesn’t think Santana knows any of these things, and she should. But it isn’t her place to tell; it’s Quinn’s.

Quinn knows things about Brittany, too—things that she always wanted to share with Santana. She feels bad for it, but Brittany is a little relieved by all the distance Santana’s put between them. It gives her time to work out what’s in her head, because it’s becoming pretty clear that the obvious things she thought aren’t so obvious anymore. She knows she loves Santana and she’s pretty sure Santana loves her back, but that doesn’t mean things are simple. She used to think that was it—you love someone, they love you back, and so you get together. And she knows it’s complicated because they’re girls and that scares Santana, but she thought that if she gave Santana enough time, she’d get used to it.

Quinn, however, is a lot more like Santana when it comes to feelings, and she’s helped Brittany realize a lot of things. Things like how even though love is more enduring than fear, fear is bigger. It’s like, Santana is trying to move this rock from one spot to another, and she can either roll it over a huge mountain or walk it around. And Brittany would walk it around because even though it isn’t the fastest route, it’s the surest. It’s the one that will always get the rock where it’s supposed to be. But the path around is agonizingly slow, and you can never see the end, and you have no way to gauge how far you’ve gone. The path around the mountain takes a lot of faith. And so Santana will always choose to roll it up the mountain because she can chart her progress. She can set a goal, and all she needs to do is get to the top, because after that it’s all down to gravity. She doesn’t even need to do anything.

The problem is that the rock keeps slipping off the mountain and it’s really hard to get it back up and she tries so many times that it stops being about the rock at all. It’s just about beating the mountain, about showing it that she’s better and she can win, and so when she does get it up to the top, she just stops and watches. The rock rolls down and maybe it turns left or right or snags on a pebble or something. But it never gets to where it’s supposed to go. So Santana calls the whole thing a failure and doesn’t want to hear any of Brittany’s advice about how the slow path is okay—it’s safe and flat and it gives you a lot of time to appreciate the landscape hiding behind the mountain. Santana is too embarrassed to hear that if they rolled the rock together, they’d get to the end quicker and probably laugh a lot along the way.

It takes Brittany about an hour to realize that Santana has disappeared. The dishes are all done and the water has been turned off. She’d go looking, but Beth is still really into Peekaboo. Besides, it’s not like Santana can get lost in this house, and she’ll at least have to walk past Brittany if she tries to leave. So Brittany keeps playing with Beth and pretty soon she’s clutching her stomach and rolling on the floor. Baby-laughs always make her laugh super hard.

“Sounds like someone’s having fun.” Brittany looks up to see Santana smiling at them from the doorway. She can’t quite figure out Santana’s smile—it looks sad and proud and… _something else_ at the same time. Brittany can count on one hand the number of times she’s been puzzled by Santana’s emotions. So far she’s batting .500 for happy outcomes.

“You wanna come join? We’re in the middle of some fascinating Peekaboo.”

Santana laughs, though it isn’t mocking like any other time she talks about babies. “Not really my thing, Britt-Britt.”

“Okay. Well then can you do me a different favor?” Brittany smiles, and when she does she makes sure it’s the one that Santana always says yes to. (To be honest, Santana hasn’t ever said no to any smile, but this is no time to test things).

“What?”

“Can you watch her while I take a nap? I’m exhausted.”

Santana’s eyes widen. “Uh, no. That’s not the deal. I keep the house clean, you entertain the poop sac. It’s a nice system; let’s not mess with it.”

“Oh, come on, San. You know that babies make me tired. And plus cheer practice today was hard and I had a test in English and just…”

“Just what?” Santana’s voice is quieter, her eyes defensive.

“Just…stuff,” Brittany mumbles, her cheeks flushing. “I could really, really use a nap right now, San. I’ll even sleep in Quinn’s room. She’s got a baby monitor so if anything goes wrong, I’ll know.”

Santana finally relents, dismissing Brittany with a wave of her hand. “Fine, fine. But I’m waking you up in an hour.”

“Yay!” Brittany picks Beth up and hands her to Santana. She kisses Santana on the cheek as she skips to Quinn’s room, and she only misses one step when she realizes what she’s done. Brittany decides it’s better to hide in bed than go back out and apologize. She isn’t sorry anyway.

She can hear Santana talking to herself. Well, really she’s talking to Beth, but Beth can’t talk back so it’s a pretty solitary exercise. After a few minutes, Beth starts whining and Santana’s words get louder, more frantic. Brittany muffles a giggle, pressing her head into a pillow.

She hears Santana make her way into the nursery, and it’s nice because Brittany can watch both of them in the baby monitor. She really is tired, and she probably should go to sleep, but watching Santana interact with Beth is kind of fascinating. She didn’t even really start warming up to Brittany’s sisters until they were at least four and potty-trained. So when Beth starts crying in earnest, Brittany turns up the volume on the monitor and settles in for the show.

 _“Come on, squirt, shut up for a little bit. Didn’t you hear Brittany? She wants to sleep because she’s got **stuff** going on.” _ Santana’s tone is bitter, and Brittany’s smile vanishes. She bites back a retort, wanting to point out to Santana that it isn’t fair that she’s so angry—Brittany isn’t the one making everything difficult.

Beth cries harder and Santana rolls her eyes. _“Yeah, okay, that was probably mean. I guess it is hard for her; I’m not exactly the easiest person to deal with.”_ She lowers her voice and Brittany has to scoot closer to hear. _“I’m actually kind of a bit—jerk. I’m a jerk sometimes. But people are scary, you know?”_ Beth coughs twice and lets out a wail. _“Yeah, see. You know what I’m talking about. I try to be scary every day because then people leave me alone. But Brittany is scary because she won’t. She’s always there and it’s scary how much I love that.”_

Brittany doesn’t know when it started, but Santana has slowly been rocking back and forth, absently trying to soothe Beth. There are a lot of reasons why Brittany wants to smile right now, but the biggest one is that Santana is awesome with kids, no matter how many objections she might make.

Santana is quiet for a few moments, and she walks over to the window, pulling back the curtains and watching the snow. It’s getting dark quickly. Brittany has to fight harder to stay awake.

 _“God, it’s so depressing outside.”_ She shakes Beth a little bit in her arms. _“You’re probably screaming because it’s cold, right? Well, **I** would be. I hate winter.” _Beth has no response other than to yell louder. Brittany can see her tiny hands flailing, punching the air in jerky motions.

 _“You really need to stop that,”_ Santana says emphatically. _“If you don’t, I’m afraid I’ll be forced to sic mi abuela on you, and she can make babies scared of her just by looking at them. You can ask your mom all about that; she’s still terrified.”_

Santana cradles Beth’s head and rocks a little more fervently. Brittany wonders if she’s even paying attention to anything she’s doing at this point. Santana is quieter than she has been in weeks, and her face is more pensive than Brittany has ever seen. Which is good, because Brittany’s doing some thinking of her own. She’s knows they’re both sixteen and they’re not even together right now, but watching Santana with Beth makes Brittany certain that they will be. And not just together like she’s together with Artie, but the forever kind of together. The kind of together where one day Santana won’t be holding Beth—she’ll be holding one of their kids. People would tell her she’s crazy if she ever shared this knowledge; her mom would want to have a serious talk and Quinn would give her a really long lecture—like, it would last for _weeks_. But it wouldn’t faze Brittany. Because she knows that one day Artie will be gone, and Santana will still be there. Brittany might move away, or she might be sad or angry or scared, and one day they won’t be at McKinley anymore, but Santana will still be there. And Brittany doesn’t have any intention of letting her go, ever.

Beth’s cries have decreased in volume but she’s still whimpering. Brittany can hear Santana humming, but it isn’t until she starts singing that Brittany recognizes the song. Three words in and she’s scrambling for her phone. The next time Santana is hurt and hostile and disappointing, Brittany will want to replay this moment until she falls asleep.

Santana slows her rocking to a soft sway, crooning “Summertime”. She doesn’t know all of the words and she repeats the chorus a few times, but it doesn’t matter. Beth quiets down in a minute. Santana keeps going, completely oblivious, and that’s when Brittany knows she’s looking at her future. She watches as Santana looks down at Beth, laughing a gentle chuckle as she realizes the crying thing in her arms is now sleeping. Brittany isn’t sure, but it looks like Santana wipes away a tear.

And then all of a sudden she’s walking out of the room, and Brittany has to stop her video and jump under the covers because she knows it’s a matter of time before Santana checks on her. She barely makes it in time before Santana opens the door.

“Britt?” Santana’s voice is soft. Brittany makes a noise like she’s just woken up, but really she’d gasped because that’s what you do when you feel a lot more than you expect to.

“Hmm?” Brittany hums, not trusting her voice. She rolls over onto her back. Santana is standing at the doorway, still holding Beth.

“I hope I didn’t wake you. I just…didn’t really know what else to do.”

Brittany wipes her eyes. It’s funny—pretending she was asleep has actually made her feel sleepy. “Is she sleeping?” Santana nods. “You could have just put her in the crib.”

Santana shrugs her shoulders. “I didn’t…I don’t know. It seemed…mean to leave her alone?”

“She’s not going to jump out, Santana,” Brittany laughs. “What do you think Quinn does when she goes to sleep, camp out on the floor?”

“No, but Quinn’s her mom.”

Brittany shakes her head and holds up the covers. “You wanna rest with me?” Santana looks scared, like she wants to say yes but she thinks she shouldn’t. “…Or we could watch TV?” Brittany changes tack. There will be other times to press for honesty. Tonight doesn’t have to be one.

Santana nods and Brittany follows her downstairs, grabbing the baby monitor on her way.

It’s how Quinn finds them two hours later. Brittany hears the car pull up and hopes that Santana won’t stop cuddling her, but the minute the key is in the lock, she jumps away like she’s been burned. Quinn lingers at the door, saying goodnight to Puck, but she comes in alone.

“Hey, guys. Have a good night?”

“Your demon spawn is a holy terror, Q,” Santana immediately retorts.

Brittany smacks her on the shoulder. “Stop it; Beth was great. How about you?”

Quinn smiles. Brittany is pretty sure it’s the kind of smile you smile to yourself after a really great date. “It was good, yeah.”

Santana turns off the television and gets up. “Well, then that’s my cue to jet.” She pulls on her shoes by the door and pauses before leaving. “I…sorry,” she says, looking at Quinn.

“For what?”

Santana opens her mouth like she’s going to say something, but she finally shakes her head. “I’ll see you at school on Monday.” She looks at Brittany and no expression has ever made Brittany want to kiss her more. _Quinn doesn’t care_ , Brittany thinks. _You can kiss me right now like I know you want to and I’ll hold you and hug you until you feel okay enough to leave. I’ll even go home with you and then I won’t have to stop holding you_.

But Santana blinks and leaves and Brittany feels her shoulders slump.

She gathers her coat and shoes, frustrated, ignoring Quinn. She can feel Quinn’s eyes on her back. They’re probably sad, which is why Brittany doesn’t want to look at them.

“How was it really, Britt?” Quinn asks softly.

“It was fine,” Brittany answers quickly. “Nothing went wrong. We even cleaned the kitchen.”

“She didn’t have to.” Quinn knows what Brittany means by ‘we’.

“Yeah, well, she always does.” Brittany has to place a hand on the wall to balance herself as she puts on her shoes, and avoiding Quinn is no longer an option. Her eyes aren’t sad, just curious. Brittany doesn’t know if that’s better or worse.

“You wanna stay here tonight?”

Brittany watches headlights zoom down the street, taking a left at the intersection like they always do. Brittany knows that they’ll turn right and then right again and then it’s a straight shot to a beige brick house.

“No, thanks.” The buttons on her coat seem too small as her fingers stumble over them. “You know, you should see if they make baby monitors that can record video.”

“What?”

“Night, Q.”

The night is silent and stoic as Brittany drives home and she wonders how many times she can play a video before her phone loses power. 


	2. Santana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics from "Carry On" by fun.

  
**we are who we are**   
**on our darkest day.**   
**when we're miles away,**   
**we will come;**   
**we will find our way home.**   


It isn’t the best place to go for spring break. It’s a little counterintuitive, actually. Who would leave the consistency of Los Angeles’s mid-fifties for windy upper-thirties in Chicago? Santana would, but only because she hasn’t seen Quinn or Puck in a long time; she hasn’t had a spring break in three years, so who cares if she visits in March; and most importantly, Brittany made her.

They were going to fly up and spend the whole week in Chicago, but Brittany mentioned that she hadn’t seen much of the western United States, and it was pretty much a done deal from there. Santana normally isn’t one for long trips in the car, but it was only a four-day drive and she had Brittany in the passenger seat. Really, everything is okay when Brittany’s with her. So they mapped out a route, made cheap hotel reservations, and cranked up the tunes. They stopped in Vegas only for a couple of hours, and then it was on to other cities that Santana can’t really remember. Mostly Santana just watched Brittany’s face, how happy she was to be seeing new, beautiful things. Denver was pretty awesome, though. Santana remembers Denver because the mountains were breathtaking and Brittany was so happy she almost cried. On the way back, they’re planning on taking a route through Arizona and New Mexico just so Brittany can really make it a _round_ trip. Santana’s pretty sure she’ll just remember the smiles and laughter from that way, too. And probably a lot of rocks.

It’s Thursday evening by the time they get to Chicago, and Santana feels a little sad because she hasn’t been anywhere this close to home in a year. After she and Brittany dropped out of college in New York, they moved to LA and it was tough getting tickets back to Ohio. They only made it for Thanksgiving and Christmas, which really turned into only Christmas because that’s the same as Thanksgiving but with presents. She definitely hasn’t seen Quinn since she and Puck visited last spring break, though they’re wearing out their webcam chatting with everyone on Skype. Rachel in particular wouldn’t drop the subject until she made a weekly schedule. Even with her classes and shows, she’s still there every Tuesday at five. Santana teases her for it a lot, but she’s glad for the opportunity to check in on the pint-sized diva. So they bonded in New York. Whatever. Who else is supposed to deal with Rachel’s special brand of crazy?

The Chicago sky is clearer than back home and deeper, like when you dunk jeans into water and just watch the colors change. Brittany is sleeping in the passenger seat and, as Santana parks a few streets away from Quinn’s building, she doesn’t have the heart to wake her. But there’s no way she’s getting them up three flights of stairs without disturbing her sleep. She’s got to carry bags, too. So Santana pulls her phone out of her pocket and sends off a text, shielding Brittany from the bright back light of her screen.

 _Yo, get your ass over here. Two blocks down. You’ve got some shit to carry_.

 _Carry your own shit. Who says I’m even home?_   Puck’s answer is just as snarky as she expected it to be, and she feels that familiar mix of brotherly love and indigestion that Puck always seems to inspire.

_Quinn told me your work schedule and I could see your light on when I drove by. Haul ass, dude._

He doesn’t respond to that and Santana smirks because she knows she’s won. She sees him from her sideview mirror a minute later, and she almost succumbs to the urge to bolt out of the car and tackle-hug him. But she really doesn’t want to wake Brittany, so she settles for simply smiling like a madwoman.

His grin is huge, too; Santana can see it when he gets close enough. He raps on her window and she rolls it down, clearing her throat before either of them talk lest he accuse her of being emotional.

“Good to see you, Lopez,” he says, and Santana searches his smile for any hint of lewd intentions. She doesn’t find even a whisper.

“You, too,” she smiles back.

He hangs his arms over her window and ducks his head down. “So am I hitting the trunk or what?”

“Oh, no. I can handle the bags. _You_ , however, get the precious cargo.” She flicks her eyes to Brittany when Puck’s face registers nothing but confusion. “And if you drop her, I _will_ make you hurt.”

“Can I—?”

“Hands under the knees and arms only, Puckerman. They wander so much as an inch and you lose both.”

His smile is merely a ghost of what it was in high school. “Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he quips.

Santana looks over at Brittany, takes in the corn-kernel hair and buttermilk skin, and she smiles. “No, I guess I can’t.” She gets out of the car and stretches her back. It’s been four hours since the last time she stood. She reaches underneath her seat and pops the trunk, walking back to open it when Puck stops her.

“Uh, you’re crazy if you think you’re touching your bags before you touch me.” She shoots him the death glare that used to melt Rachel Berry. He simply rolls his eyes. “Give me a fucking hug, Santana.”

Santana pretends to be annoyed but she changes direction anyway, burying her face in a strong chest. Puck is leaner than the last time she saw him; his hair is a little longer, face a little thinner. She hugs him and tries not to cry because he’s turned out to be so much more of himself than anyone expected. His clothes smell fresh and whatever deodorant he’s using isn’t obnoxiously tangy, and gone are the days of cartons of Axe body spray, hair gel, and wife-beaters for every occasion. Puck smells mature; he wears dark wash jeans and actual shoes, not just clunky boots or cleats. Santana is kind of amazed that he’s her age. She feels like a really young twenty two.

“You checkin’ me for bugs or something?”

“Shut up, you jerk,” she mumbles into his chest. “I missed you. Does Quinn know we’re here?”

His throat grumbles against her scalp. “Nah, she’s busy writing. Completely wrapped up in it. I don’t think she even knows I left.” Earlier in their relationship, those words would have left Puck’s mouth bitterer than the blackest cup of coffee. But he accepts it now because that’s who Quinn is. It’s like how Santana knows better than to try and interrupt Brittany when she’s dancing or planning a lesson, and it’s nothing personal if Brittany snaps at her. When people are really passionate about something, sometimes what they need most is room to love it.

Santana pulls away from Puck and hoists their bags out of the trunk. “Well, let’s go snap her out of it. I bet her writing’s really pretentious.”

Puck scoffs in agreement as he eases Brittany out of the car. “Dude, when _isn’t_ it.”

(They laugh, but they both know who’s going to be first in line to buy Quinn’s book).

The apartment looks the same as the last time Santana visited, small and tidy and just big enough for its three residents. Santana drops the bags quietly next to the couch and watches as Puck sets Brittany down gently. Brittany mumbles at the movement, and Santana knows that it’s just a matter of minutes before she’s completely awake again. No doubt she’ll have more energy than all of them put together, including Beth.

The door to the master bedroom is closed, but there’s light hovering between the frame and the floor. Santana can hear quiet canned laughter coming from Beth’s room. She weighs her options, trying to decide which is the safest to disturb, and isn’t surprised when her feet take her to the place where it’s okay to make noise.

She slides Beth’s door open quietly. She spots a tiny swatch of blond hair on the bed across from the door. Beth is too engrossed in a movie on Puck’s laptop to notice any distractions. Santana sneaks closer, trying her hardest not to giggle, but she stumbles on one of Beth’s toys and makes a huge racket.

“’Tana!” Beth shrieks. She’s careful with the laptop, more careful than most six-year-olds would be, but once it’s out of her way her tiny feet are clumsy and fall over each other as she barrels into Santana.

“Hey, Squirt,” Santana laughs, resting her hand on the back of Beth’s head as she clings onto Santana’s leg. It’s a little awkward, so Santana picks Beth up and squeezes her tight.

Beth squirms away and pushes a hand against Santana’s collarbone, getting leverage as she tries to get comfortable in Santana’s grip.

“You smell like Funyons,” Beth accuses.

Santana smiles. “Well, you know how Auntie Britt likes to eat in the car. And we’ve been driving for a long time to come see you guys.”

Beth pulls Santana’s sunglasses from her head and inspects them. “How long?”

“Four whole _days_ ,” Santana says dramatically.

Beth stops playing with the sunglasses and stares at Santana. “I don’t even remember four days ago!”

Santana laughs and twists around, checking to see if anyone is spying on them. “Hey, Beth. Do you remember that word I taught you?” Beth nods and opens her mouth. “No, no,” Santana says quickly. “Don’t say it too loud. Whisper in my ear.” Beth’s whisper is closer to a yell, but Santana smiles anyway. She’s got the pronunciation down. “That’s perfect,” she says, pinching Beth’s cheek. “Now, what are the rules about this word?”

“Don’t use it unless you’re in the room,” Beth recites.

“And…?”

“And never use it when I’m talking to someone else.”

“When can you use it?”

“When I drop something. But only once.”

“When is it okay to say it after that?”

“Not until I’m thirty.” Beth raises her eyebrows just like Quinn used to, only hers still have a little-kid innocence to them. “Was that right?”

“Perfect,” Santana confirms. She sets Beth down on the ground and gives her a pat on the butt. “Go see if Britt’s awake; I’m gonna say hi to your mom.”

Beth runs out the door and Santana can hear twin screams a moment later. She chuckles to herself as she makes her way down the hall, opening Quinn’s door quietly.

The blond is sitting at her desk, pencil shoved behind her ear, cheek resting on her left hand. This is probably the twentieth time Quinn’s read over what she wrote. Santana knows this from study sessions during high school. If nothing else, Quinn is a consistent perfectionist.

Santana sneaks up behind her and wraps her arms around Quinn’s neck, resting her chin on her head. “Hey, stranger. Making progress?”

“I think so, but I’ve been staring at these words so long it’s hard to tell. When did you get in?”

“About ten minutes ago. I said hi to Beth already.”

“I see I’m not your favorite Fabray anymore.”

“You don’t let me win at Connect Four.”

“Well, _you_ smell like Funyons.”

“Oh, don’t even try to deny that you love it.”

Quinn gets up and they’re both laughing before they even have time to pretend to glare. Santana is pleased to see that Quinn looks rested and light—usually, long bouts of writing translate to drooping eyes and clothes. But her sweater smells like dryer sheets; her hair is styled; and her smile is pretty big.

“Did you let that boy put a ring on your finger yet?” Santana asks as they hug.

“Did you let Brittany?” Quinn deflects.

“Can’t get married in California, Q.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t wear a ring.”

Santana’s glad that Quinn can’t see her face because she might actually be blushing. “Well, actually…”

Quinn pulls away at warp speed and smacks Santana on the shoulder, hard. “Oh, my god! Santana Lopez, you did _not_ get engaged and forget to tell me about it!” she screams.

Santana shushes her through satisfied giggles. “No, jeez! Of course not, Q. I haven’t even popped the question yet. But, you know, I saw this ring a couple weeks back and I figured it couldn’t hurt to start saving, right?”

Quinn squeals—actually _squeals_ —and hops excitedly. “You have a picture on your phone, right? Lemme see!” Santana pulls it up and shows it to her, trying not to look too smug as Quinn gushes. “Santanaaaaa, you _have_ to propose tonight! Oh, my god that would be the best spring break ever.”

Santana laughs, genuinely amused. “Hate to burst your bubble, Quinn, but life doesn’t get nice romantic moments like your stories. I’ve still gotta buy it and stuff. Besides, we came to visit you guys. I don’t need to make this weekend about us. That’s what we’ve got the rest of the year for.” Quinn looks like her brain is about to bust out of her forehead, so Santana suggests a distraction. “Why don’t we wrangle everyone up so you can feed me because I am _starving_.”

“You’re always hungry,” Quinn scoffs.

“I am not _always_ hungry!”

“Name me one time you aren’t.”

Santana slings an arm around Quinn’s shoulder as they walk out of the bedroom. “When I’m eating,” she grins.

Puck and Brittany are entertaining Beth when they get to the living room. Brittany smiles and waves at Santana before getting up and hugging Quinn. Santana watches Puck squeeze Beth playfully in the stomach before quietly asking her to put away her Legos. Santana makes eye contact with her and they both smile. Beth gives her an almost-invisible nod. Santana takes a moment to mentally pat herself on the back; this kid is going to make an excellent prankster. She gives Beth a look that says, _“Not yet; wait for my signal.”_

“So, what are we thinking for dinner?” Santana prompts. “Chinese? Mexican? Italian?”

“Ooh, eggrolls,” Brittany drools, at the same time that Quinn answers “Italian,” and Puck tells them all he just needs beer.

“We had Mexican food last week,” Quinn says as if that settles it.

“But babe,” Puck counters, “tacos.”

“Or fried rice!” Brittany interrupts cheerfully

“Or an endless supply of garlic bread.” Quinn raises her eyebrows in an effort to persuade Puck.

But he isn’t moved. “ _Tacos_ ,” he repeats.

Santana smiles and lets them argue, content to just sit back and watch. Which is why it takes her by surprise, too, when Beth spills Lego bricks all over the floor. They make a horrendous racket as they clack against each other.

“ _Mierda!_ ” she screeches at the top of her lungs. Quinn’s eyes bug out of her head and Puck turns away quickly to hide a snort. Beth waits a moment and then looks straight at Santana. “Did I get it right?”

Santana is laughing too hard to do anything more than nod.

When they sit down to dinner, she orders Beth the biggest plate of tacos Quinn will let her get.

* * *

 

They put Beth to bed when they get home at ten thirty. Quinn cracks open a bottle of white wine—nothing too crazy because everyone is pretty tired. Santana settles into her favorite spot on their couch and waits for Brittany to scoot next to her.

“How’s the bar going, Santana?” Quinn asks.

Santana shrugs and sips her wine. “Not bad. Jay says he’s finally found an artist worth pursuing. We lined up a gig for her next Saturday, I think.”

“Didn’t he say that about the last three _artists_?”

Santana smiles. “Yeah, but he’ll keep saying that until he’s right.”

“Hmm,” Quinn murmurs skeptically. “And when is he going to get his head out of his ass and let you scope out the talent?”

Santana shakes her head. “I’ve only been there two years; I don’t want to shake things up. Besides, he’s crazy successful. He’s got to be doing something right.”

Quinn looks at her like she’s got three heads. “He has _terrible_ taste in music! Nobody shows up for the shows. They come for the amazing cocktails.”

“That’s not true,” Brittany chimes in. “He gets Santana to sing sometimes, and she’s awesome.”

“That doesn’t count; anyone with ears can tell that Santana’s great.”

Santana flushes and talks over whatever Quinn was going to say next. “Tell me about your book,” she says a little too loudly. Brittany squeezes her hand and Santana feels calmer.

Quinn just rolls her eyes. “It’s garbage; I feel like I’ve been staring at it for too long. I’ve hit a wall.”

Santana chuckles into her wine. Sometimes Quinn is exactly what English majors are stereotyped to be—a pretentious little snob. It’s sort of endearing. “You should talk to Rachel. Miss “I’m going to be on stage until I die and after that I’ll be the first dead Broadway star” is feeling the exact same way.

“What, all my problems are going to be solved if I sing in a musical?”

Santana shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe you should write one together or something. I don’t know; do something different.”

Brittany nods in agreement. “Whenever one of my students gets stuck on a move I always tell them to do it backwards. Sometimes you just need to change things up.”

“How’d you manage to get a week off anyway?” Quinn’s question is an avoidance tactic, but her face is thoughtful. Santana knows she’s listening to their suggestions.

“Dance school is still school,” Brittany says. “We have spring break, too.”

“Really?” Quinn laughs.

Brittany smiles mischievously. “Well, I might have been the one to start it. But no one’s complaining. Our enrollment’s gone up, actually. People seem to like flexibility.”

(Three voices shout “No!” in unison when Puck opens his mouth).

A familiar silence falls over the three of them, the inevitable lulls in conversations no longer uncomfortable when they’ve been friends as long as they have. Quinn and Puck make eyes and laugh at each other from their seats; Santana rubs her thumb in circles over Brittany’s hand and curls her legs underneath her. It’s like they’re back in high school, the cool kids hanging out together in their exclusive group, only it’s not so exclusive anymore and they don’t hate everyone.

Quinn is the first to speak again. “I hate to ask this of you guys, but—”

“Yes,” Brittany interrupts.

Santana smiles. “Britt, you don’t even know what she was going to say.”

“Doesn’t matter. I say yes.”

“As wonderful as that sounds, I think you’re going to want me to finish,” Quinn says.

Brittany shakes her head. “No, I’m not. I know what you’re going to say. And I say yes.”

“Really.” Quinn quirks an eyebrow and Santana wonders how much of her personality resides in that tiny strip of hair.

“Yep!” Brittany chirps.

Quinn takes a moment and appraises Brittany’s face, looking for any hesitation. Santana thinks Quinn should know better—Brittany rarely ever hesitates about anything.

“Okay,” she finally says. She turns to Santana. “What about you?”

Santana finishes off her glass of wine and acts like it’s normal to agree to mysterious favors. “If Britt says yes, I say yes.”

Quinn smiles and shakes her head. “Hopeless. You’re hopeless.”

/

(Later that night, as they settle themselves into Quinn’s pull-out couch, Santana is surprised to learn that she’s just agreed to babysit Beth until Monday while Quinn and Puck take a mini vacation. Santana looks at Brittany incredulously because there’s no way Brittany knew that without Quinn saying anything, but when Brittany insists that she did, Santana believes her. Brittany just mirrors her expression and says, “Wait, you mean you need words to talk?”

And Brittany surprises Santana once more and gives her another reason to fall in love all over again).

* * *

 

Brittany tells her not to get nervous about two days alone with Beth, but by the time Quinn and Puck leave on Friday afternoon, Santana has twisted the skin on her ring finger so much that she’s given herself a rash. It’s not that Santana doesn’t love hanging out with Beth; she’s actually ridiculously fond of the little munchkin. It’s just, there’s a big difference between watching her for a few hours because Quinn’s tired and watching her for two days. Like, what if they have to give Beth a bath or what if she breaks her arm or something and really, what are they supposed to do with her for that long? It’s not like she can fall back on her normal method of entertainment and take Beth to a bar. And it’s not like she’s watching Brittany’s sisters because she knows they like movies and the park. But what kind of movies does Beth like? And is she allergic to weird stuff or what? Does she even like to be outside? All kids do, but Santana has a feeling that Beth isn’t like all kids. She’s Quinn’s kid, and Quinn would take a good book and a couple pillows over the beach any day. So Santana doesn’t know what to do, and she’s nervous.

“You’re thinking too much,” Brittany says, wrapping her arms around Santana’s waist. Santana stills her hands, putting the plate that she’d been washing back in the sink. “You’re a really good babysitter, San. Plus, you love Beth.”

Santana smirks and leans back into Brittany. “How’d you know what I was thinking about?”

“I always know what you’re thinking,” Brittany answers, kissing her neck.

“You do?”

“Mm hmm. It’s kind of my superpower.”

Santana turns around, resting her arms on Brittany’s shoulders and toying with a strand of hair in Brittany’s ponytail. “I think you might have a couple other superpowers, too.”

“Maybe I could show them to you later,” Brittany smiles.

Santana tips up to press a teasing kiss to Brittany’s lips. “Maybe you could show them to me now.”

“Can I see, too?” a little voice squeaks from the doorway, and Santana’s heart speeds to hummingbird velocities.

Brittany giggles and steps away. “Why don’t you grab your favorite plate and sit and the table and we can have some dinner?”

“’Kay!” All thoughts of alleged superpowers are gone from Beth’s head as she takes her _Little Mermaid_ plastic plate from Brittany’s hands and runs to the table.

Brittany chuckles and turns to Santana, her cheeks red and shy. “Well, that kid’s got some impeccable timing.”

“Tell me about it,” Santana laughs dryly. She runs a hand across the back of her neck and returns her attention to the dishes in the sink.

“You okay?” Brittany pries.

Santana takes a calming breath and smiles more confidently than she feels.

“Yeah,” she says. She kisses Brittany sweetly on the forehead. “Let’s go eat.”

/

They take Beth to the Lincoln Park Zoo the next day, and she holds Santana’s hand the whole time. Santana looks around uneasily for the first half an hour, but no one is giving a second thought to the two not-quite-adults walking around with a small child. They probably think she’s Brittany’s sister, not that they’re Beth’s moms like Santana’s brain keeps repeating, escalating the scenario to truly catastrophic proportions as she panics over Dippin’ Dots when they stop for a snack.

She jokes with Beth and tickles her, but she’s not really paying too much attention to anything. It’s like someone else’s hands are wiping Beth’s face and pinching her cheeks; someone else’s mouth is laughing and teasing; someone else’s cheeks are crinkling and smiling. Brittany notices that something’s off, of course she does.

 _Too much thinking_ , Brittany texts while Santana is waiting for Beth to finish going to the bathroom. Santana smiles in spite of the elephants trampling all over her stomach.

 _Let’s chat after the penguins, okay?_ She gets a smiley face in response and the elephants have shrunk to cheetahs, at least.

Beth comes hurtling out the door as Santana puts her phone back in her pocket.

“Where are we going next?” she asks excitedly.

“Did you wash your hands?” Beth nods and Santana stretches out her hand for Beth to take. “Well, we’ve got to go home soon, but I think we’re gonna go see the penguins first.”

Beth peers up at her curiously. “Do they dance like the ones in _Happy Feet_?”

“Well, maybe not exactly like them,” Santana smiles. “But penguins are pretty happy animals. I bet they do some kind of dancing.”

“Maybe Auntie Britt knows,” Beth says thoughtfully.

“Yeah, your Auntie Britt knows a lot about dancing. You should ask her when we get back.”

“Okay.” Beth grows quiet and watches people as they keep walking. A lot of adults smile down at her, this composed six-year-old with inquisitive brown eyes. Beth smiles back at everyone, which, Santana is pretty sure, isn’t what Quinn would have done. She used to think a child that was a combination of Puck and Quinn would be a scary thing to behold. As it turned out, Beth was a precious mixture of sweetness and snark. Santana figured the frightening part would come by the time Beth hit her teens, by which time Santana planned to fully cement herself as the cool aunt, thereby avoiding any temper tantrums and icy glares.

“Look, ‘Tana!” Santana follows Beth’s finger to where it’s pointing at a runaway balloon. It’s pink and trapped between a chair and a table. Santana grips Beth’s hand tighter as the six-year-old drags her toward it. Beth stops right in front of it and cranes her neck, checking to see if anyone’s left it behind. When no other kids rush forward to claim it, Beth tentatively grabs hold of the string.

“Can I keep it?” she asks Santana.

“I don’t see why not.” Santana mostly agrees in order to see the smile that she knows is coming—yep, there it is. She’s always been a sucker for smiles.

Beth smiles again and grabs Santana’s hand. They continue walking back to where they told Brittany they’d meet her. When Beth finally spies Brittany sitting at a picnic table, she lets go of Santana’s hand and dashes off to show Brittany her balloon. Santana’s heart skips more than a few beats as she loses the blond head in the crowd. She only calms down once she sees Beth bouncing on the bench next to Brittany.

“…And it’s pink and pretty, don’t you think?” Beth gushes.

Brittany is smiling and nodding by the time Santana catches up to them, and suddenly Santana feels very much like the bad cop.

“Hi, Santana,” Beth waves.

Santana inhales deeply and tries to breathe away most of her anger. “You can’t do that to me, Beth, okay?”

“Do what?”

“You can’t run away like that. It’s really easy to lose you in a crowd, okay? You’re little.”

“But Britt was right here,” Beth protests.

“I know, Beth.” Santana places a comforting hand on Beth’s cheek. “I almost lost your mom once. I don’t like losing my favorite people.” She smiles in what she hopes is a reassuring way. Santana still feels shaky inside.

Beth peers back at her with an unreadable expression and just nods. “Okay.” She hands Brittany the balloon and suddenly she won’t look at either of them. “Here, Britt. Santana got this for you ‘cause it’s your favorite color.” She sits down on the bench and slumps her shoulders, resting her head glumly in her hands.

Brittany leans in to Santana, keeping an eye on a forlorn Beth. “What did you _do_?” she whispers, half amused, half accusing.

Santana turns to her with stern eyes. “I didn’t do anything! She ran away! Come on, I couldn’t let her get away with that.”

“I know,” Brittany laughs. “Just teasing.” She smiles mischievously. “I also know you didn’t get me this balloon.”

“Of course I didn’t,” Santana replies. “I would have gotten you purple. Little brat’s trying to make me feel guilty.”

Brittany just laughs and nudges Beth from her solemn pose. She takes Beth’s hand as they walk to the penguin habitat.

When Beth asks Santana to pick her up because she can’t see well, even though Brittany’s taller and positioned better, Santana knows she’s forgiven for the moment.

/

It’s later that night, while Santana is watching Beth and Brittany make dinner, that her worries completely leave her body. Beth is teetering on a stepstool, carefully snapping the ends off green beans as Brittany breads some chicken. Santana watches the way they interact, how flawlessly they work together, and she smiles to herself. She’s smiled this smile before, mostly when she watches Brittany play with her sisters (on the rare occasion that they actually get along). There’s something special and achingly beautiful about the way that Brittany interacts with children. It’s one of the things that’s always constant about Brittany. She might be awkward around adults and somewhat of an enigma to peers that don’t already understand how she works, but she always clicks with kids. There’s some magic that kids have, and Santana is pretty sure she lost it a long time ago. But Brittany, Brittany seems to have cultivated it and merged it with an adult’s maturity, and Santana is pretty sure that means it won’t ever go away, because Brittany will be an adult for the rest of her life. So watching Brittany with kids is never something that Santana misses because it’s different, purer, every time.

(For a second, Santana imagines just how radiant and pure Brittany would be interacting with one of their kids, and that solves all her problems. That would probably solve all of her problems for the rest of her life).

So she sits down to dinner and doesn’t worry when Beth bumps an elbow on the table. She watches Brittany kiss the bruise and blow raspberries until they all dissolve into hysterics. And they give Beth a bath and it isn’t as terrifying as Santana imagined, though she still makes Brittany do the shampoo. She doesn’t believe all of that ‘ _no tears_ ’ crap. It takes a magic touch, and that’s always been Brittany’s area of expertise.

They put Beth to sleep and laugh as they steal Quinn and Puck’s bed for the night. Hell if they’re sleeping on a lumpy couch mattress when there’s a queen-size waiting two doors down.

It doesn’t smell like home, but Santana’s happy anywhere Brittany is.

“You okay?” Brittany asks as they snuggle under the covers. “You’ve seemed a little off all day.”

“Yeah,” Santana whispers. She wraps an arm around Brittany’s torso and tugs her hips closer, needing contact more than words right now. “I know this is going to sound weird,” she says after a moment, falling back on words anyway. “But…we’re getting married, right? Or a civil union or whatever the fuck California allows, or maybe we won’t be in California forever, but that’s what you’re in for, right? I know it’s not the most romantic proposal or whatever, but…right? That’s going to happen?”

Brittany smiles, and it’s watery and beautiful. “Yeah, I think so. That’s my plan, anyway.”

Santana fiddles with Brittany’s hands, with fingers that have always seemed so much more graceful because they’re long and determined. “And, like, kids and stuff?” she slurs nervously. Her heart is pounding. “That’s happening, too?”

Brittany’s face is serious, like she doesn’t know how to respond because she’s not sure what Santana wants her to say. “Do you want kids to happen?” she stalls instead.

Santana’s throat is suddenly three sizes too small and she can’t push her words through it as eloquently as she’d like. “Yeah,” she croaks out, trying to keep an eye on Brittany through the haze of tears. “Yeah, I do.”

Brittany gasps and her hold on Santana’s fingers turns into a death grip, and then she’s breaking down, sobbing more hysterically than Santana’s ever seen before, even those first few weeks in New York when she was really homesick and confused by the busy city.

Santana doesn’t really know what to do because these could be happy tears or they could be the worst fucking thing she’s ever seen. This kind of thing is a deal-breaker, she knows; this is the kind of thing that destroys relationships or makes them stronger, and Santana kind of wishes she didn’t have perfect examples of both situations in her life. Not for the first time in her life, Santana wants to be exactly like Quinn.

“Baby, are you…do you not…?” She doesn’t really know how to ask what she’s feeling, because the words _“Do you not want kids with me?”_ don’t really address everything. They’re not as heartbreaking as what she’s really afraid of, what she doesn’t want to ask just in case she understands what Mr. Schue went through freshman year.

_(“Do you not want kids with me?”_

_“Am I worth this to you?”_

_“Are you still waiting for someone who isn’t so frustrating?”)_

Brittany doesn’t look like she’ll be calming down anytime soon, so Santana just holds her and waits. She figures since Brittany did so much waiting during high school, it would be rude not to repay the favor. She tries not to let things spin out of control. Santana has a tendency to blow things to ridiculous proportions, even though there are far more instances in her life where things have gone her way.

 _Quinn survived her crash and she can walk again; my parents still love me; Abuela is coming around slowly_ , she repeats silently.

Eventually the tears dry and Brittany’s hiccups fade. Santana kisses Brittany’s temple and smoothes her hair from her brow. “You good?” Brittany nods. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to catch you off guard.”

Brittany nods again and finds a strand of hair on Santana’s shoulder. It tickles as she rolls it between her fingers and brushes it against Santana’s skin. “I never thought…” she mumbles.

“What was that, Britt?”

Brittany clears her throat. “I never thought you’d want kids. I mean,” she shrugs, “sure, I hoped you would. But it seemed like a dream, you know?” She looks up at Santana with wet eyes and a blissful, quivering smile. “Thank you,” she husks, and tears have started flowing down her cheeks again.

Santana nods and kisses her slowly, reassuring Brittany that sometimes dreams can be the same as real life. She keeps her eyes closed as they pull away just in case she’s going to wake up soon.

“So that was a no, right?” she whispers, teasing.

Brittany huffs a laugh, blowing air across Santana’s lips. “That was a yes, you dork,” she chuckles. “A yes, _please_ ,” she clarifies.

Santana laughs back and wipes the wet away from Brittany’s eyelashes. “Sounds like maybe we should start… _practicing_ tonight. How super are you feeling, superhero?”

Brittany straddles Santana’s hips and pulls the covers over them. “I feel like I could save the entire world,” she says, and Santana has never believed in anything more. 


End file.
